


It's Not the End of the World

by Love_all_the_fandoms



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Castiel/Dean Winchester First Time, Croatoan Virus, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-16
Updated: 2016-09-03
Packaged: 2018-05-21 01:44:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 19,850
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6033511
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Love_all_the_fandoms/pseuds/Love_all_the_fandoms
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It’s the end of the world and Dean Winchester has a lot on his mind, it’s not the easiest task running possibly the last bastion of humanity on the face of the planet. On top of all this he sees something he shouldn’t and now has to deal with seeing his best friend in a different light.<br/>Castiel is mostly human now, but somehow he hears Dean’s prayers, shocking both of them into admitting there might be something more going on between them. However, communicating that to each other turns out to be even more dangerous than running naked through Croat territory blasting an air horn and waving a neon sign that says ‘come get me’ (metaphorically speaking of course…)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Beginning in the End

**Author's Note:**

> This is set in the future shown in 5.04 ‘The End’, but past Dean doesn’t make an appearance. Canon divergence!

It was the end of the world and Dean Winchester was a busy man. Croats were everywhere, his brother was playing host to the Prince of Darkness and his already small group of survivors was gradually getting smaller. Hamburgers were a thing of the past, Chuck was reduced from being a Prophet to organizing mundane things like toilet paper and Cas, well, Cas was a hippie stoner.

As he stalked through the camp that was the epicenter of his insane world Dean muttered imprecations, threats, expletives and pleas under his breath, trying to either release some of his rage or think of something that would get through to the former angel whose cabin was his destination. He noted darkly how people scrambled to get out of his way, no doubt they’d heard the commotion when Cas hadn’t shown up at the briefing for the next day’s mission. Again. He only hoped his angel-turned-new age guru-turned-addict was sober enough to at least allow some of the details sink in. A mission into a Croat hot zone was nothing if not unpredictable and he needed all his team one hundred percent informed, aware and _alive_.

Dean was so angry and focused he didn’t notice the obvious signs of what was happening in the cabin until it was far too late. Later he would realize there had been more than one pair of shoes on the porch, at least two jackets on the railings and most unusually, no one passed out in the hammock. Instead of noting these signs and backing away, like any sensible person who’d lived in the camp more than a few days would, Dean jogged up the stairs and barged his way into the cabin.

Immediately the hunter was confronted with the sight of his friend buried underneath several of his drugged-up and _very_ naked followers, of both genders. Five, (or maybe six, it was hard to tell with so many limbs) Dean absently counted, while his brain came to a screeching halt and did a complete 180 from ‘find and kill Cas,’ to ‘ _oh shit oh shit oh shit oh shiiiit!_ ’ Of course, Cas’s orgies were legendary and although Dean had never participated himself he'd heard enough of them. The whole camp had. This one though, was quiet. Dean had thought Cas alone, which is why he had come bursting in, reports in hand, ready to berate his friend for missing the last meeting and maybe shake him out of whatever drug-induced fantasy world he was living in this time. The hunter had therefore been completely unprepared to see half the room covered in naked bodies, all writhing hungrily, yet eerily silent. Dean could only assume this was down to one of Cas’s new age ideas about needing to be noiseless ‘to feel the thrum of the Earth’s energy’ or some such bullshit. Either that or because they all had their mouths full.

Dean froze just inside the door, waiting to see if he had been noticed. When it became clear that the sevensome (was that even a word? Or humanly possible?!) were far too busy to notice anything short of a nuclear explosion, he began to back slowly and oh so quietly out of the room. As he did so Castiel, the fallen Angel of Thursday, his best friend and closest confidant, stretched his arms and threw his head back against the pillow, biting his lip in a sinful display of wanton lust and debauchery. His black hair was mussed and his full lips swollen from kissing, his limbs languid and his skin a scandalous expanse that begged to be touched and caressed.

Dean’s breath caught in his throat and he involuntarily froze again. The thought crossed his mind, how could anyone, _anyone_ look so… he floundered, unable to think of the right words. ‘ _Fucking inhumanly sexy_ ,’ Dean’s subconscious supplied helpfully after an agonizing second of shock and another even more agonizing moment of confused longing. Of wanting to see Cas open his eyes and look into his soul, to see the piercing blue that had never left even after he no longer had his earth-shattering powers, to see those eyes pin him down and fill with lust and longing.  
At that moment one of the girls reached up to kiss Cas and the spell was broken. Dean turned and fled.

As the hunter turned his back Cas cracked one eye open and grinned.

* * *

 

Dean would never admit it to himself but he ran from that encounter. As he rushed aimlessly back into the camp he almost jogged headlong into Chuck, who grabbed his jacket as he tried to go past, stopping his forward momentum quite abruptly. Dean absently noted that the little fucker was wirier than he looked.

“Dean, are you ok?” Chuck asked, clearly concerned. Dean could see his face reflected in Chuck’s sunglasses, his eyes were wild, the pupils so dilated there was hardly any sign of green, his face so white it could have been made of chalk.

“Yeah man,” Dean said, shuffling slightly and thinking quickly. “Just, there was a spider.” _Pathetic_ , he mentally cursed. _Fucking pathetic. Get a grip!_ “You know, one of those big evil-looking fuckers that like to hang out in places you’re certain to put your hand.” Dean amended, not sure if he was talking about arachnids anymore.

“Ah,” Chuck nodded sympathetically, “I’d rather take on an army of Croats than one of those. Did you get hold of Cas? I really need him to look over those supply notes, to see if we need to look for anything extra while you’re…out there.” He shifted uncomfortably. No one liked to think too closely about what lurked outside the camp walls.

“Ah, Cas is… unavailable right now,” Dean said, which was camp speak for ‘Cas is off his face and no use to anyone.’

Chuck’s face fell a bit. “Oh, right. Well, can I meet up with you later? I need to talk to you about medical supplies.”

“Sure thing Chuck, whatever you need.” Dean maneuvered his face into a reassuring smile, one frozen muscle at a time, and patted Chuck on the shoulder as he stalked past, trying to look like he was moving towards something, rather than away from it.

About an hour later Dean took a break from the endless questions and complications that came from being leader of a group of frightened civilians in the middle of a war zone. He wandered over to the memorial board and stared at the pictures there, which everyone knew was his way of saying ‘do not disturb me on pain of death and/or dismemberment.’ But instead of taking in the images as he usually did, memorizing the faces of the fallen and the missing, including Sammy, he just stared. Stared and thought.

Of course it wasn’t surprising that Cas was having an orgy, he’d made it a habit after the end, after they had failed to stop Sam from making the decision that would haunt all of them for eternity. It was his way of escape. Dean also suspected he needed the orgies to punish himself in a strange way, to prove to himself over and over that he was indeed human, and unworthy of redemption. That and the haze of drugs and alcohol made for poor decisions. No, it wasn’t surprising to find Cas underneath a pile of naked people, it was Dean’s reaction to Cas that was causing this uneasiness. And fear. And, if he was being _really_ honest with himself, some serious longing. And wasn't that just the icing on the world's most fucked-up cake?

Dean stood and thought some more. He thought about Castiel, the Seraph who gripped him tight and raised him from Perdition. He thought about the Angel who had time and again given everything to help Dean, even when he was being a mountain of dicks, so hurt and angry at the world that he lashed out and wounded everyone around him. He thought about his friend Cas, both the trench-coated implacable ally and the stoned hippie with his yoga pants and wooden beads and penchant for substance abuse. He knew this Cas had long since given up hope of killing Lucifer, or of rescuing Sam, or of doing anything more than living out his mortal span in as pleasurable way as possible, but he never failed to help Dean when he needed it. Never failed to follow him on insane suicide missions and forays into Croat hot zones.  
And so Dean thought. But not for long, because Dean Winchester was a busy man.

Dean spent the rest of the day in a fog. Chuck asked questions about medical supplies, Dean mumbled something about planting potatoes in reply. A woman hit on him in the supply room and he just stared at her until she sidled uncomfortably out the door. In weapons training Dean lost track of his opponent and ended up in the medical tent with a wickedly deep cut on his arm. His adversary was unnecessarily gleeful about taking down the fearless leader, so while he was getting stitched up Dean darkly promised himself that he’d send the man on the next supply run to the middle of Croat territory.

At dinner Dean stared at his food, aware that if he didn’t eat people would talk, it was unheard of for their leader to turn down food, even food as oddly… gloopy… as this was. He sighed, having to forcibly will himself to take a forkful of potato (or was it some kind of pureed meat? Dean couldn’t tell) and put it in his mouth. And then he very nearly stabbed himself in the face with said fork when he went to take the first bite and Cas ( _sexy, sexy, bed-hair and eyes… oh hell the eyes… Cas_ ), put his hand on Dean’s shoulder for a brief moment in greeting as he went to line up for dinner. The gesture was friendly, casual and familiar and not at all intimate, but somehow that brief touch burned through his shirt, burned him down to the hand print already branded there, burned through Dean like the fires of hell itself. Dean put the fork down carefully, mumbled a hurried apology to a startled Chuck, something about checking the perimeter, and practically ran from the mess hall. The second time that day he’d lied to Chuck and run away like a little girl.

Dean hurried through the camp to his cabin, pulling his jacket close against the cold. What was happening to him? Since Sammy had left all Dean had was Cas and the camp, and every day he made sure that the angel didn’t get himself killed and the camp ran like clockwork. He could no longer take care of Sam but he, Dean Winchester, was in charge of this colony. This was maybe the only camp of uninfected humans left in the world, and he could not, _would not_ jeopardize that by becoming a sloppy, horny teenager who thought only with the brain in his pants. Dean was The Leader, he was a _warrior_ dammit, an honest-to-goodness post-apocalyptic war hero with responsibilities and no time for THIS. Whatever ‘this’ turned out to be.

After what seemed like an eternity of these unhelpful thoughts and internal ranting monologue Dean finally stumbled into his cabin and flopped backwards across the mattress. Lying there with an arm over his eyes he decided the only sensible option was to get a decent night’s sleep and put all the day’s ridiculousness down to a lack of rest and the constant stress of the job.

Dean soon discovered that sleep was not something he could wrestle to the ground and make his bitch. He was too used to getting only a couple of hours of shut-eye, and his body and mind were still humming with the tension of the day. As he lay there his mind drifted inevitably back to what he'd seen that morning. As much as Dean tried to fight it, the images just kept playing on repeat. The hunter had participated in enough meaningless post-apocalyptic sex to know that it was a great way of blowing off steam and stress, especially before big missions when no one knew if they would survive, and after, when no one could believe they had. Dean didn't have a problem with the orgy and certainly not with his best friend losing himself for a little while. The grief and pain in Cas after he lost his mojo had eaten him alive, Dean knew his friend needed the sex and drugs just to keep going, to feel something other than the pain of living. Of being human. A pain Dean himself knew all too well.

 _Cas…_ Dean’s treacherous mind continued to replay the scene, drifting over and over to his friend, lying there amongst the writhing bodies, calm and serene and sexy as hell. His hand drifted mindlessly to the hand print branded on his shoulder, tracing the outline of the mark under his shirt as he thought of the angel. His traitorous body responded and he began to think less about what had happened and more about what he wanted to happen, about the thought of Cas stretching out underneath him, wanton and disheveled like in the cabin this morning. His piercing blue eyes open and looking straight at Dean, no silence this time but moans and begging and heat. _Cas…_ Dean moaned to himself, half in a daze. _I want… I want…. Oh fuck, Cas!_

* * *

  
The former angel was sitting at the table in the mess hall when it happened. He had a forkful of whatever disgusting mush had been served up for dessert that night hanging forgotten in his fingers as he laughed at Chuck’s recount of Dean’s encounter with a spider that morning. Dean had left the hall without eating, had, in fact, been acting strangely since he’d walked in on Cas’s morning... activities... and Cas suspected it wasn’t a spider Dean had been running from. Cas grinned even wider as he remembered Dean’s eyes going wide as saucers as he tried to silently get out before he was noticed. Of course Cas knew he was there. He always knew when Dean was nearby.

Cas ate his forkful of ‘weird orange’ as he'd dubbed the dish and let the table’s chatter wash over him. He replayed the scene in his head, the look on Dean’s face as Cas had stretched out, showing off just a little, the jaw dropping, the flash of shock and … confusion?... as the angel watched him surreptitiously through his eyelashes. Yes, this was a pleasant memory to get him through the next few days. Something to revisit the next time he was drugged to the nines and thinking thoughts about his friend he only allowed in the quiet corners of his mind.

Just as his thoughts turned away from the hunter and back to the slop on his plate a voice rocketed into his mind like it had in the old days, his name whispered inside his skull.

“No…” he breathed. It couldn’t be. It could not possibly be a… _prayer_? Could it?

 _Cas…_ the voice begged. Cas leapt up like a scalded cat, sending plates and cutlery flying as he stumbled backwards, hand across his heart as he tried to stop it beating out of his chest. What the _fuck_ was _that_?!

Chuck started to get up to ask what was wrong and every eye in the room was staring at the wild-eyed angel as if a kitten had suddenly grown into a lion in their midst. Cas waved the questions and concerns away and stumbled out into the night, knowing his odd behavior would be chalked up to yet another bad trip. _And maybe it is_ , he thought. He’d been taking some funky stuff recently. The cold air knifed through his thin cotton shirt and yoga pants, but Cas still didn’t feel the cold, not like Dean did. A moment of clarity came. That had been Dean’s voice. His friend was in trouble.  
Cas started to run.

Cas was halfway to Dean’s cabin when he heard the voice say his name again, and almost there when he heard Dean say he wanted him, both in his mind and now with his ears. Cas pulled up short outside the cabin’s porch, not sure if he had heard what he thought he had, or if he had heard it, if he was interpreting it correctly. He shucked his thin sandals and crept closer. A moment later his suspicions were confirmed, Dean wasn’t in trouble, wasn’t even aware that somehow he was praying to the angel, something he hadn’t been able to do since Cas lost his mojo.

Cas eased back and rested his forehead against the outside of the cabin, trying to calm the heart that had been straining first with fear and now confusion. Dean… wanted him? Cas felt a flutter start low down and build as he heard Dean moan into his pillow. He’d long ago come to terms with the fact that Dean didn’t want him, not like that. Had come to terms with being his friend, his confidant, his adviser, but never his lover. Now it seemed that Dean was alone in his cabin fantasizing…about _him_.

Cas didn’t know whether to laugh or cry, to barge in there and pin his friend to the wall and kiss him senseless, or slink back to his cabin and let everything remain unchanged between them. The decision was taken out of his hands when Dean moaned his name into his mind again, filled with longing and hunger. That single word went straight through the angel and down his body like a jolt of electricity, and before he knew it he was leaning casually against the door frame, arms folded.

“You rang?” he asked, trying to sound casual, but his breath hitched as he saw his friend sprawled over the bed, still with his clothes on but obviously aroused, his pupils blown wide, a hand frozen in the act of sliding down his body towards the hard bulge in his pants.

* * *

  
Dean was lost in a haze of lust and confusion. It wasn’t that he hadn’t thought about Cas that way before, but only as a passing ‘I wonder’ kind of thing, when a hand had brushed his in training or when they’d been sitting out at night under the stars, drinking beer and talking about days long gone. This was different. Seeing the angel so wanton, so damn _sexy_ , had shifted something in Dean and he wanted, _needed_ to work this out of his system before somehow Cas found out and he saw disgust, or rejection, in those beautiful blue eyes.

The part of Dean that was the old Dean, the Dean who still had Sammy, who still looked up to his father, who hadn’t lost nearly everything and everyone in the whole world that he loved, that Dean screamed out that this was wrong. That feeling this way about your best friend, about your _guy_ best friend was wrong, morally reprehensible, shameful and any other words that meant ‘fucking _wrong_ ’. But the larger part of Dean, the Dean that lived in the new world, the Dean who had seen how quickly people lost their inhibitions when death stalked the camp every day, where people reached out and held on to anything human, just to feel a few minutes of companionship and comfort, that Dean couldn’t care less about the meat suit that held Cas. He just wanted Cas. As long as, and this was the big problem, as long as Cas wanted him back.

It was just as Dean was caught in the middle of fantasizing about his friend, freaking out about fantasizing, freaking out about Cas freaking out, and his body not caring about the freaking out, that Cas casually announced his presence. Dean practically levitated off the bed in shock, then leapt to his feet and stood there, hair mussed and breathing hard, as the object of his fantasy stood leaning against the door frame with a look of amusement, and something darker, in his eyes.

“Dammit, Cas!” Dean spat, straightening himself up as best he could and trying not to blush furiously, wondering what Cas had seen, or worse, heard. “Do we need to have another discussion about personal space?”

“I don’t know,” Cas said lazily. “Do we? The door was open. Also, I seem to remember you forgot to knock this morning too.”

Dean spluttered a curse. Cas laughed. The laughter shifted from light-hearted to a dark, throaty chuckle as the angel moved from casual to intent in the blink of an eye, padding softly into the room on bare feet. Dean watched, able to feel the heat radiating from the angel even at the good meter distance that still separated them. _The bastard never did feel the cold_ , Dean mused, unable to think of something more profound as Cas came slowly, warily, closer.

“You called me here, Dean,” Cas said calmly. “I’m here. What do you want?”

Dean stared wildly, “I…”

“Called me,” Cas replied, lifting an eyebrow. “Prayed to me. I heard you. I am here, Dean Winchester.”

Hearing his name said the way Cas used to say it, when he used to show up in a flutter of wings, all blue eyes and power, a force of nature like a hurricane or an avalanche, snapped something in Dean. He grabbed Cas by his cotton shirt and practically flung him against the wall, hissing as their bodies pressed up against each other. He pressed them both into the wall and stared at the angel, face only inches away, breathing his breath and trembling with longing, or anger, or fear, neither of them were sure which. Cas stared back levelly, calm, in control. He lifted a hand to Dean’s waist but the hunter growled, a feral growl deep in his throat and Cas let his hand fall back to his side. He then used that hand as leverage to push slightly off the wall and roll slowly against Dean’s hips.

“Stop, Cas,” Dean ground out, staring into those blue eyes that suddenly weren’t full of mischief and laughter, but full of heat and fire. He breathed out raggedly. “Stop.”

“Why?” Cas asked curiously, head tilted to the side. It was a calculated move, he knew Dean saw the old Cas in that gesture, the one he could trust to be there for him, not the drug addled wreck he was now. He knew he’d hate himself for the manipulation later, but right now all he could think about was the man pressed up against him and if Dean didn’t do something soon Cas would die, he was sure of it. Dean moaned as Cas rolled his hips again.

“Because if you don’t stop I won’t be able to,” he panted. “Talk to me Cas, tell me what you want before I lose control and take it for myself.”

Cas shut his eyes for a second, stilling his movements. “I want...” he breathed out.

“What? Cas, what?” Dean all but hissed, trying not to terrify his friend any more than he must have already, having pinned him against a wall and practically threatened him. Dean wasn’t sure how much longer he could stop himself from tearing the angel’s clothes off and taking him where he stood. But he needed to hear Cas say it. Needed to know that the angel wanted this, wanted _him_ , just as much.

Cas opened his eyes. “I want you.” he said simply.

“Fuck, _Cas_!” Dean growled, all pretense at self-control gone. He crushed his lips into the angel’s and they kissed, if it could be called kissing since it was more like a battle, all heat and tongues and teeth. Cas broke away first.

“Touch me, Dean!” he gasped, “I want, I _need_ you to touch me!”

Dean quickly ripped the angel’s shirt away, and his own, running first his hands and then his mouth across the angel’s smooth chest. As his tongue found a nipple Cas practically melted into him and Dean, who didn’t think it was possible to be any more turned on, got even harder.

“Anything you want, baby,” he gasped, “ _Anything_. I’m yours.” They both moaned as Dean pushed their hips together, the fabric still separating them suddenly maddening. Cas finally reached down and freed Dean’s cock, running his hand along its length and squeezing gently. “Oh fuck, Cas!” Dean moaned, “Baby… oh, _Angel_.”

Cas practically came when he heard Dean call him Angel, and suddenly the hunter was no longer calling the shots. Cas pushed him back, until Dean’s knees hit the bed and he fell, somehow also ridding them both of pants in record time. Dean scrabbled backwards until he hit the headboard, as Cas stalked after him and straddled his lap.

Dean lay back and looked up at the angel, reaching out to run a hand down his smooth skin, lower and lower until finally he wrapped his sweat-slick hand around his length. Cas moaned, a guttural noise that was the sexiest damn thing Dean had ever heard.

“Dean,” Cas gasped out, “I’m not going to last. I’m so close already. Just having you here, under me... it’s too much.”

Dean gazed up into the lust-glazed blue eyes above him, stilling his movements. Completely unable to resist he reached out to bring his friend down on top of him and kissed him with surprising gentleness. Kissed him with all the passion and tenderness and longing coursing through his veins. This kiss was everything their first kiss hadn’t been, instead of hard and fast it was soft and languid, tongues lazily exploring and expressing an infinity of tenderness. Dean ran his fingers softly through Cas’s hair and thought that nothing in this fucked-up world had ever been as perfect as the angel in his arms. A new feeling started to spread through him, both relaxing something inside he didn’t know was wound so tightly and simultaneously firing up every nerve. He wanted the kiss to last forever, but eventually his body reminded him that kissing was only one of the things it wanted to do. Cas apparently felt it too, moaning against his mouth, reaching down between them.

Dean shook his head and rolled them so he was on top, grabbing Cas’s hands and pinning them above his head. Cas was taken by surprise by how strong the hunter was, but put up minimal resistance to this new arrangement. Dean leaned down and bit his shoulder gently, sending a flash of fire through Cas that took him completely off guard, bucking against Dean’s hand, trying desperately to get Dean to finish what they’d started. Dean looked at him and grinned darkly. “You like that, sweetheart?” he asked, licking the spot he’d bitten. Cas moaned in agreement, writhing urgently now with need.

“Talk to me Cas,” Dean said in an echo of his earlier command, biting down again, not gently this time, but hard. Cas howled Dean’s name. “Dean! Dean! Please!” and finally Dean did as he was asked, taking Cas in a sweat-slick hand and using all the skills he’d used on himself over the years, before covering the angel’s face in kisses and whispering in his ear. “I’ve got you, Angel. I’m here. Now come for me. _Come for me Castiel!_ ”

At the sound of his full name, which no one had used in years, the angel came undone, a white-hot pleasure spiking through him, so intense he thought he was going to black out. All the orgies, all the sex he’d had since his fall and none of it had felt like this. Dean had no experience with other men, the whole affair was rushed and messy and like two teenagers fumbling in the dark but it was so hot and so perfect and everything he’d dreamt of, everything he’d searched for so long to find.

Dean was panting now, watching Cas. “So fucking hot Cas, so _fucking_ hot, the way you look…!’ he groaned, looking down at his angel, wondering if he was going to come without even having to be touched he was so turned on by the sight below him.

Cas grinned lazily up from under him, a toothy smile and messy hair and the eyes that Dean had fantasized about glazed with the aftermath of passion. Then those eyes sharpened again into a piercing look that had every fiber of Dean’s aching body, still crying out its need, shiver with anticipation.

* * *

 

Cas continued to grin as he expertly broke Dean’s hold, flipped them so Dean was on his back, and began to kiss his way down the hunter’s stomach. Dean grunted his surprise and Cas paused, looking up at him. His breath caught in his throat at the sight of the hunter, his green eyes staring at him with lust and longing, and something else that nearly undid the angel. He thought he could get lost in those eyes, could easily stare into them for eternity without pause.

“Don’t you dare stop!” Dean ground out, but Cas paused for a second longer, his long-fingered hands holding Dean still, stopping him from bucking no matter how hard he tried. Cas found he enjoyed having Dean at his mercy, wanted to take his time and wring every cry, every expletive, every moan from the hunter. He wondered briefly about the echoes of Grace he had felt in the intense throes of passion, but that train of thought was soon derailed by his impatient hunter.

“Tease!” Dean cried out in frustration, grabbing Cas’s hair in his hands and forcibly trying to push the angel downwards. Cas put up a token resistance, then grinned and resumed his exploration of the hunter’s body, the hard muscles rippling with need under his questing lips and fingers. When he finally reached his destination, Cas leisurely, torturously, oh so slowly took Dean into his mouth. The hunter fisted his hands in the sheets, trying to get enough leverage to push his hips upwards, but Cas was suddenly strong, stronger than he had any right to be.

“Look at me you son of a bitch!” Dean gasped and Cas obeyed. As he gazed up at the hunter he winked mischievously and suddenly all Dean could feel was mouth and tongue and soft, wet heat and all he could see was his angel’s blue eyes, looking at him, into him, _through_ him. It was so intense he barely had time to grind out the word ‘ _Cas…_ ’ before it all went white-hot and he came so hard he thought he saw the shadow of two enormous black wings, the size of the room, springing from the angel’s back and enfolding them and the bed in their protection. The moment seemed to last an eternity, yet no time at all.

When Dean came to his senses he looked up at the angel who had straddled him again, staring down at the hunter with an intense look that was so like the old Cas he felt a sudden stab of wistful melancholy.

“Fuck that was hot,” Cas said matter-of-factly, and Dean burst into startled laughter at the unexpected profanity.

* * *

  
The angel looked down at his friend, pinning him with his stare, waiting for the moment Dean would realize what had happened and pull away. It didn’t happen. Instead, Dean reached up a hand and cupped his cheek.

“Cas, what is this?” he asked quietly, searchingly. When Cas didn’t immediately reply Dean rubbed his thumb gently along the angel's lips.

“Castiel?” he whispered, the question clear in that one word.

“I thought you’d given up trying to label things,” Cas finally replied with a shaky laugh. Dean didn’t respond, staring up at the angel with a look Cas couldn’t describe. He felt a sudden desperate need to bring the intensity down a notch before the hunter withdrew from him, all too aware that lying naked underneath another man was as far out of his comfort zone as the older Winchester was ever likely to get. The angel knew instinctively that he needed to be careful, to take things slowly, even though that was now similar to closing the stable gate after the horse had long since bolted.

With those thoughts uppermost in his mind he grabbed the hand that was still stroking his cheek, kissed the palm and proceeded to say the stupidest thing he’d ever said in his long, long life.

“We were just fooling around, Dean. It’s not the end of the world.”

Three things happened then. Firstly, real, genuine, intense hurt flashed across Dean’s face, so fast that only Castiel, who had learnt everything he knew about being human from the man underneath him, would notice. Secondly, he cursed himself to the depths of hell itself for ruining everything with his good intentions, _again_. Lastly, with unbelievably awful timing, the perimeter alarm howled.

Dean unceremoniously pushed the angel off and jumped to his feet, hastily wiping himself down with a shirt before dressing with the practiced speed of someone who lived constantly on the edge of disaster.

“Actually Cas,” Dean said as he grabbed his gun and strode to the door, “I think you’ll find it is.”

As the hunter vanished into the night the former angel put his head in his hands and couldn’t help but agree.


	2. Out of Time

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's the next chapter, I hope you guys are enjoying the story so far!  
> Warning: Violence

Dean ran out into the confusion of a night filled with the cries and screams of his group of survivors, and the insistent crack of gunshots. He barrelled past a group of children being ushered into the most secure place in the camp, the mess hall, and cursed himself again. If he hadn’t been so caught up in his lustful thoughts about the angel would he have seen this coming? Had there been a warning sign he had missed?

When Dean reached the perimeter fence he scaled the watch tower, pulled bodily the last few feet by Chuck, who was awkwardly holding a rifle.

“What’s the situation?” Dean snapped, grabbing the binoculars out of the smaller man’s hands.

“An incursion to the west,” Chuck replied grimly, his face pale as chalk in the moonlight.

 _Moonlight!_ Dean thought, alarm flowing through him. _Where are the floodlights_? He whipped out his walkie-talkie.

“Western Barricade this is Watch Tower One, where are the lights?”

His heart skipped a beat as a familiar voice came over the lines. “Power’s out, Watch Tower,” Cas said, sounding out of breath, “something’s wrong with the generator. I’m on it.”

Dean wanted to scream into the walkie-talkie for Cas to get the hell away from the front lines, but he bit back the words grimly. This was about the entire camp, not just one man, best friend or not.

“Get to it, Wings,” Dean said instead, and heard the familiar hiss that Cas made whenever he used that hated code name. If his world hadn’t been about to come crashing down on him Dean might have smiled.

“Get fucked, Fearless Leader,” Cas replied mildly, and this time Dean did grin. He wanted to say ‘already have’ but not only did he still have mixed feelings about that, he also had an audience. And the entire camp was about to be overrun by Croatoan virus-carrying assholes.

“Stay safe, Cas,” he whispered instead as he clicked off the walkie-talkie and turned to Chuck, who was nervously scanning the forest outside the camp walls.

“Do we have numbers?” Dean asked, trying to make out something, _anything,_ in the gloom. The flashes of gunfire weren’t enough to illuminate the scene, although he could see enough movement to make him worried. Very worried.

“Scout team Alpha reported close to a hundred before they were overrun,” Chuck said, swallowing visibly. Dean felt his heart stutter in his chest, that was far more than they’d ever faced before.

“I’ve got to get down there,” he muttered.

Chuck shook his head. “We need you up here, directing the battle.”

“I can’t direct anything if I can’t see what’s happening!” Dean snapped, tight knots of anxiety coiling in his belly.

Chuck held his hands up in surrender. “Whatever you think is best, Dean,” he said, with just a hint of sarcasm. “Just, stay safe, ok? We need you.”

“You have Cas, if I was gone he’d step up to the plate,” Dean said absently, already starting down the ladder.

“Don’t be an ass,” the normally mild-mannered man snapped, causing Dean to look up in surprise. “You’re the only thing stopping Cas from falling apart completely. He needs you alive as well.”

Dean looked into Chuck’s suddenly stern face for a heartbeat longer, before nodding sharply and continuing on his way down the ladder.

Above him he heard the radio click on. “Western Barricade, it’s Watch Tower One. You Know Who is en route.”

“Fuck!” he heard Cas exclaim, “Can’t you stop him?”

“Stop him how, exactly?” Chuck replied sarcastically before the world went white, an explosion rocking the tower and almost causing Dean to lose his grip on the ladder. He squinted into the brightness; an explosion like that meant only one thing, the Croats had navigated the pits and had reached the last line of traps before the wall. He dropped the last few feet to the ground and raced in the direction of the gunfire.

* * *

 

Cas violently ended the call to Chuck and got back to work on the generator, frantically trying to get it working before his idiot friend went charging into the fray with that ‘no thought for personal safety’ attitude and got himself killed. He felt his shoulder blades itch; they always felt that way in situations like this, when he most desperately missed his wings.

After what seemed an eternity, but was really only a few minutes, his shaking hands finally found the loose connection and light flooded the camp. A ragged cheer went up from the wall and he jumped to his feet, picking up his rifle and heading for the battle. From the sound of it the Croats hadn’t breached their defenses yet, but from what he’d seen before he made for the generator it wouldn’t be long.

He was almost to the wall when he heard Dean’s voice.

“They’re over!” he screamed out. “Section Two, get in position!” the rallying call went up, punctuated by a short, sharp blast on an air horn, letting the camp know the wall had been breached.

Screams came from the perimeter and Cas ran harder, still hearing the hunter's voice even through the barrage of sound. He would have been able to pick out Dean’s voice even if a hundred thousand people had been screaming in concert.

“Don’t let them bleed on you!” Dean shouted to their army who, despite the endless drills and foraging trips, were in disarray; the defensive line broken into pockets of fighting all along the wall.

Cas came running up, shooting at the few Croats who'd made it past their last line of defense. “To me!” he cried out, pulling out the flare he’d snagged from the supply room. Seeing the red glow the ragtag group of survivors flocked to Cas’s side, and he had a moment to look around and take in the gravity of the situation.

Out of the over one hundred Croats who had attacked the camp it seemed only a third or so were left. But the incursion had taken a heavy toll on the defenders, some lay injured on the ground, others lay dead by their own hand. It was one of those things that went unspoken in the camp; if you were infected it was better to die on your own terms than to turn and become a danger to your friends and family. Most waited out the mandatory four hour quarantine, just in case. But a few couldn't face the wait, and the inevitable toll it took on their loved ones. Cas couldn’t blame them.

On the wall, outlined against the surrounding darkness by the floodlights, Dean had abandoned his rifle and was grappling hand-to-hand with the enemy. Cas felt his heart leap into his throat as Dean dispatched his adversary, jumping back and pulling his injured arm away from the spray of blood. A long heartbeat passed before Dean was apparently satisfied he hadn’t been infected, and Cas breathed again. And then a hand snaked over the wall and wrapped itself around Dean’s ankle.

The fearless leader toppled from the wall and into the mass of Croats outside.

* * *

As Dean fell he twisted in mid-air, landing on his feet. Immediately the remaining Croats turned to look at him.

“Son of a _bitch!_ ” he muttered, pulling the gun out of his thigh holster and preparing for the fight of his life.

Before he could even get one shot off Cas was there, leaping from the wall with more agility than any human had a right to posses. He landed with cat-like grace, teeth bared, his eyes shining with a feral intensity. His angel blade gleamed wickedly in his hand as he stalked towards the nearest Croat, and Dean almost felt sorry for it.

What followed next was like nothing Dean had ever witnessed. Cas _flowed_ across the battlefield, handing out death with a precise efficiency that had chills running up and down the hunter’s spine. He was sharply reminded that Cas hadn’t just been an Angel, but a warrior of Heaven. He briefly wondered what Cas had been like on the heavenly battlefield; he could almost picture him with his wings unfurled, grace shining from every pore, his eyes blazing with the purity of battle. Dean shivered.

In seconds the ten or so Croats who had still been outside the walls had been _massacred_ … there was no other word for it. Cas stood surrounded by a pile of corpses, his head hanging low, breathing heavily. Dean was by his side in an instant, tilting the angel’s head up to look at him.

As he looked into Cas’s eyes he saw the horror in them. And the _love_. Love blazed from those blue eyes; they were so bright that Dean was reminded intensely of the day he had first met Castiel.

That day had been a pivotal moment in the young hunter’s life; he vividly remembered how light bulbs had blown and sparks had showered across the floor as Cas had stalked towards him with a measured step. He recalled regretfully how they had stabbed the angel, fearing what they hadn’t understood. But Cas had pulled out the knife like it was nothing more than a minor irritation, which, Dean conceded, was all it had been. And then had come Cas’s confession… _I’m an Angel of the Lord_ … and his whole being had blazed with supernatural intensity, the shadow of his wings stretching across the walls. Dean remembered how hard he had tried to fight the awe and wonder he'd felt as the angel had first gazed into his soul with those piercing blue eyes.

He wondered now how long the angel had loved him. Then, with a moment of clarity, he wondered how long _he_ had loved the angel.

 _Forever,_ his heart said.

He was suddenly struck by the inevitability of this moment, had there really been any other outcome since Castiel had placed a hand on his soul and raised him from Perdition?

Then his eyes moved from Cas’s face to take in the rest of his body, and he drew in a sharp breath. Cas was _drenched_ in Croat blood. The only part of his body that wasn’t red with it were his eyes. It dripped from his hands, dripped from his hair, pooled around his feet in a macabre puddle.

“ _Cas!_ ” Dean hissed, horrified. Cas smiled a small, regretful smile and lifted the blade, clearly about to use it on himself. Dean knocked it out of his hand with so much force he thought he might have broken his friend’s wrist. Cas stood and stared at him, head tilted to the side reproachfully. A part of Dean wondered what it was about these intense moments between them that seemed to cause Cas to revert to his angelic disposition; he could swear he saw Grace behind those eyes, could swear he smelt that faint ozone tang that he associated with Castiel the Angel of the Lord.

Dean held up his hands, talking to his friend like he might a wild animal.

“Cas… think first. Did they cut you? It’s only transmitted blood-to-blood, remember? Cas… _did they cut you?!_ ”

Cas reached out to Dean and every instinct screamed at him to flinch away, no one wanted blood on them in case it got in an unnoticed abrasion. Instead he held himself still as his friend pointed to his shirt, and then to his mouth. Dean understood, quickly ripping a strip of cloth for Cas to wipe his face with.

“They didn’t deliberately infect me, Dean,” Cas said at last. _They didn’t have time_ , Dean supplied the rest of the sentence internally. “But the chances are there’s a scratch on me somewhere. The way we live… it’s not kind on the skin.”

“Screw that,” Dean spat. “What you’re saying is you don’t know for sure. You only knife yourself if you’re _sure_ , you son of a bitch! We need every able-bodied man we can get. _I_ need…” Dean didn’t finish the sentence, clenching his hands into fists. Cas nodded slowly.

“Ok Dean, but if in a few hours I start to turn, or if we find out I was scratched… you won’t stop me again.”

“Deal,” Dean said, letting out the breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. Two blasts of the air horn followed his words, sounding the all-clear.

Dean mentally steeled himself for what awaited him on the other side of the wall. He’d be burning a lot of friends tonight. But not Cas. Never Cas.

He’d watch the world burn first.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yikes, that got a bit darker than I intended! Thanks for reading so far, your kudos and comments mean the world to me!


	3. Aftermath

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First off, I’m so sorry this update has taken so long! I was traveling overseas, and had some other projects on the go. I was debating continuing this story or not, but then I got some wonderful comments which made me remember how much I loved the endverse Cas/Dean pairing, and the big plans I had for this story arc. What I’m trying to say is, you guys rock. Thank you! I hope you enjoy this chapter!  
> Warning: violence, talk of suicide

As Dean walked through the camp, a blood-drenched former angel padding silently by his side, he took in the devastation with practiced detachment. There, a friend screamed in fear and pain as a gushing wound was hurriedly bandaged by what passed for paramedics in the camp. Here, a man sobbed over his lover’s body, obviously dead by her own hand, infected.

Dean stopped for a moment.

“Leave her,” he whispered quietly, gently, crouching down beside the stricken man. “She died to protect you, don’t dishonor her memory by letting her blood infect you.”

He stood again, walking on, not stopping to see if he was obeyed. Behind him he heard the man begin to ask Cas for a blessing, something he often did for the dead, new beliefs notwithstanding. Then he heard the quick in-drawn breath as the man (Dean cursed himself, he knew everyone in the camp, why couldn’t he remember this man’s name?), noticed Cas’s condition. All around him he saw his people turning to look, saw the horror and despair on their faces. Silence fell, until all that could be heard was the crackle of flames and the screams of the wounded and dying.

It wasn't until that moment that Dean realized something he had known on a subconscious level for some time. Cas was the most important member of the camp. He had become… not a mascot, Dean decided, that word diminished the power of Cas’s presence. A talisman. A symbol that, fallen or not, they were on the side of the angels…literally. Quite apart from what would happen to Dean personally if he lost Cas, the loss to the camp at large would be devastating, and the damage to morale would be difficult, if not impossible, to recover from.

Watching the reactions of his people, the leader in Dean came to the same conclusion his heart had already reached. Cas could not be allowed to die.

“Cas…” a wraith-thin blonde woman whispered, holding out her shaking hand in a pleading gesture. Dean didn’t know if she was pleading for Cas to reassure her, or to somehow comfort him, but either way the hunter was shocked by the intense, burning surge of jealousy that shot through him. A primal part of his being he hadn’t even realized existed screamed that Cas didn’t belong to these people, that Cas was _his_!

Dean opened his mouth to say something very un-leaderlike, but luckily Cas beat him to the punch.

“Yeah…” the angel said with a small, self-mocking smile, “but you should see the other guys!”

A titter ran through the crowd, building into relieved laughter, far more laughter than the small joke deserved. Dean caught Cas’s eye, and quirked an eyebrow. The angel gave another small smile in return, a special smile, intimate and knowing, as though Cas had seen all of Dean’s thoughts, the jealousy, the anger, the pain. Dean flushed slightly and quickly turned towards the med tent. A single glare from him had everyone jumping back to their tasks, and he strode on unimpeded, not needing to look behind to know that Cas was following.

* * *

 

Cas trotted along behind Dean, trying to come to grips not only with his own dire situation, but with what he had sensed from Dean when Marcie had reached out to him. The power of Dean’s jealousy had been almost a living thing, and Castiel didn’t know what to make of it. It was more anger than was warranted from their brief passionate interlude. And the way Dean had looked at him on the battlefield... it hadn't been the look of a friend. The hunter’s green eyes had practically burned with emotion, but _which_ emotion Cas hadn’t quite decided. Even after all this time he still found human emotions difficult to interpret, something that had caused Dean no end of amusement over the years.

As they walked through the camp Cas was dismayed by what he saw, but the more he looked the more his uncounted centuries of experience pushed aside his all-too human feelings of grief and anger, allowing him to put together a grim picture of what had happened, and calculate their chances of recovery. His initial conclusion was that they were well and truly fucked; but the more he saw, the more his opinion changed.

Thanks to Dean’s endless training and drills which everyone, including Cas, bitched about constantly, there was a underlying method to the chaos. Anywhere there were Croat bodies the dedicated clean-up team was there in their hazmat suits, carefully stacking the corpses ready for burning, along with any blood-spattered soil. Memories of the mission to collect those suits briefly flashed in his mind's eye and he winced. That had not been a good time. Still deeper in the camp the wounded were being tended to with as much efficiency as possible, and the fighters were stripping down with no shame, their friends checking for signs of accidental infection.

This was always a nerve-wracking time for everyone, worse even than the battle itself, but with every group they encountered Cas watched the effect of his friend’s presence with something close to awe. Dean had an innate talent for picking out the people who were on the edge of breaking and instilling in them a sense of purpose and determination with a kind word, a joke, or a barked order. Watching the impact Dean had on the camp of survivors made Cas’s heart swell with pride, and a deep, intense love that shocked him with its power.

Unconsciously he began to stare at the taut lines of Dean’s body, the fluid way he moved, the breadth of his shoulders, and the way he took in everything around him with a hunter’s keen perception, trying to burn every small feature and mannerism of his friend into his memory. Without Dean he knew he would have to fallen to pieces long ago. But now he realized, with a shiver of dread, that without Dean the _camp_ would also fall to pieces.

The fearless leader had to be protected at all costs, including, if necessary, from his best friend.

With that thought Cas began to focus on the feel of his body. His human form was his only form now, and after a difficult transition period he had come to know it pretty well. He sifted through all his aches and pains, and eventually focused on a burning sensation under his ribs. The more he focused on it the more certain he became.

He’d been infected.

* * *

 

Dean pushed his way into the med tent, noting with dismay the sea of wounded, the flustered nursing staff, and the total chaos of the triage area. There weren’t enough beds, the least wounded were laying wherever there was a free inch of space, and the stench of blood and sweat and fear was overpowering.

The leader in him quickly and coldly estimated the wounded, fully a third of the camp, while the part of him that he couldn’t afford to show, the part of him that was as fragile and human as the next person, felt sick with grief as he saw how many of the wounded were in the quarantine section.

Upon seeing Dean’s entrance people started to rush up to him, babbling questions and demands, trusting Dean to have all the answers, to somehow fix everything and make it ok again. In the middle of the chaos stood Chuck, handing out medical supplies and taking inventory with shaking hands. Apparently feeling Dean’s eyes on him, he looked up, and past Dean to the opening, where Cas hovered uncertainly. His eyes widened and he started to move towards them, but Dean gave a small shake of his head. There was nothing the former Prophet could do for the angel. Chuck nodded grimly, then looked at the crowd around Dean with narrowed eyes.

“Leave Dean and Cas alone,” he barked harshly, startling everyone, including Dean, with the sharpness of his tone. “They’ve got enough to do without you lot getting in the way.”

Dean nodded gratefully to Chuck who went back to his work, a slight slump to his shoulders the only sign that he knew something was wrong. Running his critical eyes over the over-stretched resources and over-worked medics the hunter came to a quick decision. Backing out of the tent he met Cas’s questioning look levelly.

“They’ve got too much to worry about already,” Dean said, more harshly than he’d intended, then cursed himself to hell and back at Cas's crestfallen expression. “I don’t mean that you’re a burden, you idiot,” he said affectionately. “Just... they won’t have the time to look after you properly.” _Not the way you deserve to be looked after. Not the way I’d look after you._ Those words hung unspoken between them, and Cas gave Dean that enigmatic look, the same one from before. The too-knowing smile. 

“Dean…” Cas began. A surge of adrenaline shot through Dean at the crack in Cas’s normally smooth, sandpaper voice. He could hear the next words before they were spoken, _if I don’t make it_. Without conscious thought he raised his hands in a defensive gesture, trying to stop the angel from finishing that sentence. The high of the battle suddenly left him, causing his knees to go weak, his heart to hammer in his chest, and a cold, clammy sweat to spring out all over his body. The thought of losing Cas… it was more than he could bear. Cas fell silent, a look of such sadness on his face that Dean had to swallow a howl of despair, to choke down all the words that lay between them. There would be time for that later. There. Would. Be. _Time!_

Cas rolled his shoulders, an unconscious gesture Dean had seen time and again, a nervous habit leftover from when he had wings. He gritted his teeth, trying to will a return of the detachment that usually came so easily to him; the kind of practised calm that only came after years of leading people on suicidal missions into the heart of enemy territory.

“I’ll go back to my cabin, get cleaned up, and meet you back here for the debrief,” Cas said, not quite meeting Dean’s eyes. The hunter felt another surge of adrenaline at those words, destroying his last vestiges of calm. He knew why Cas wanted to go to the cabin alone.

“If you think I’m letting you out of my sight for even a second, you’re out of your goddamn mind,” Dean gritted out, the fear and anger making his hands shake. How dare Cas try to leave him… leave the _camp_ , Dean quickly amended. He’d be damned if he was going to let the angel kill himself. Both figuratively _and_ literally.

“Not even in the shower?” Cas grinned feebly. Dean just stared at the angel until Cas swallowed nervously and turned for the cabin.

"Not even in Hell itself," he promised to Cas's retreating back, low enough that the angel didn't hear.

* * *

 

“Dean, the camp needs you right now,” Cas pleaded at the entrance to his cabin. He knew he couldn’t allow the hunter to come in with him. He couldn’t allow Dean to bear the burden of witnessing his death and he couldn’t, _wouldn’t_ , allow his friend to persuade him to wait, only to turn and infect him. The hunter just stared at him, like he was trying to gaze into whatever passed for Cas’s soul these days.

“The camp needs you too, Cas,” Dean said eventually.

“It’s not the _camp_ that’s standing outside my door,” Cas pointed out, feeling an edge creep into his voice. A heavy silence stretched out between them, fraught with tension.

In that moment Castiel missed his wings more intensely than at any time since his fall. In times past he would have blazed brighter than the sun, spreading his wings up into the sky, their magnificent shadow blacker than the darkest night. He would have used his power, his Grace, the very essence of his being to force this mortal, this mortal that he _loved,_ to turn and walk away. The urge to awe Dean into submission was so strong that for a moment Cas could almost feel the burn of his Grace, feel the turning of the world under his feet, hear the music of the Heavens. He fell back with a gasp, and Dean’s face blanched white for just a second, a look of awe and terror flashing across his face so quickly that Cas wasn’t sure he’d seen it at all.

They stared at each other for a long moment.

“What the _fuck_ was that?!” Dean breathed, his voice shaky. Cas stared back at his friend, but had no answer. He reached inside himself, felt for the place his Grace had always lived inside him, reached for his wings. He felt nothing, only the ache of his mortal body, the pains in his joints from the fight, and the slow, insidious burn under his ribs.

Dean shook his head as if trying to clear it. “It must be the fatigue,” he muttered, “for a second there I thought I saw… never mind. It doesn’t matter.”

Cas stood aside to let Dean enter, too shocked to do anything else. What was happening to him?

“Cas, come and sit down,” Dean ordered, pulling out a chair, the intensity of the previous moment lost to practicality. When Cas didn’t move Dean added irritably, “Dammit Cas, do I have to wrestle you to the ground and tie you to the chair? Sit!”

“Let’s save the ropes for another day. Maybe add in a blindfold?” Cas quipped with a wink. Dean blushed furiously, as the angel had known he would. Cas sauntered casually over to the chair, feeling obscurely pleased with his ability to get a rise out of the Fearless Leader. _In more ways than one_ , he thought to himself, grinning.

Dean didn’t see the grin, he’d disappeared into the bathroom, and Cas could hear running water. Their ability to keep the water running had been a huge morale booster for the camp, and one of Dean’s greatest achievements.

Cas smiled at that memory, then sighed as he realized he had little time left to come to grips with his past... and his lack of a future. He looked at the bathroom door, and when he was certain Dean would be a little while, he allowed himself a quiet moment to think about things he hadn’t allowed himself to think about in years.

Mostly the angel thought about the young hunter he had first seen in the grip of the demons, in the darkest depths of Hell. He relived again the way the Righteous Man’s soul had blazed with a fiercesome light, his ferocious determination to protect those he loved shining through even in the midst of his torment. As Cas had placed his hand on that soul, branding it with his mark, he had felt the Winchester’s singular strength and devotion, and had vowed in that instant to protect and defend this remarkable man with all the power a Seraph could bring to bear. It was only once Cas had lost his Grace and become the broken human he was now that he understood what it was he had felt in that moment.

Love.

 

Dean walked back into the room with a bowl of water and a towel, breaking Cas’s reverie. Cas saw his friend flick his eyes to the bed and back again, almost too fast to be seen, but the angel knew exactly what the hunter was thinking of, the orgy he had walked in on, just that morning. Just half a day ago. It felt like a lifetime.

Dean put the bowl of water down on the ground, facing Cas with his arms crossed defiantly across his chest.

“Strip,” Dean ordered, his voice and stance daring Cas to defy him. The angel felt a grin creep across his face as Dean flushed red again, but the hunter remained defiant, unyielding. Cas decided to give in, on his own terms of course, and began to undress.

* * *

 

Dean watched a mischievous grin spread across his friend’s face at his instruction to strip. He gritted his teeth and felt himself blush like a goddamned schoolgirl as Cas defiantly maintained eye contact, his blue eyes blazing with an emotion Dean couldn’t quite define. The angel teasingly ran his hands down his sides, grabbed the edges of his ragged, blood-drenched shirt, and drew it slowly, leisurely up his body. Unconsciously Dean found his gaze riveted to the movement of his friend’s fingers as they carefully didn’t brush against the lean, smooth expanse of alabaster skin that he hadn’t had a chance to fully appreciate during their hurried coupling. As the shirt finally came off he looked back up to see the angel’s eyes still locked on his, his expression a mixture of amusement, sadness, regret, and a touch of defiance. It was a look that had Dean’s heart thumping hard in his chest, and not for a good reason. He quickly scanned his friend’s chest with an analytical eye, his breath hitching as he saw the small, shallow gash on the angel’s ribs.

“Shit, Cas!” he breathed, moving without conscious thought to his friend’s side, holding the wet towel. He reached out to clean the wound, but Cas leaned sharply away.

“Dean!” he hissed, the sound jolting the hunter out of his shock. He looked up into Cas’s terrified eyes questioningly.

“You mustn’t touch me!” Cas breathed, his eyes as round as saucers. “Get back. Go to the other side of the room.”

“You’ve got blood on your hands,” Dean pointed out, using the ‘reasonable’ voice that he knew Cas hated. “You can’t touch that wound. You also can’t touch me to stop me.” He leaned forward with the towel again. There was Croat blood on Cas’s chest. Was it in the wound? Dean couldn’t tell.

Cas leaped out of his way, quick as a cat, knocking the chair over in his haste. “Come near me again and I’ll scream so fucking loud the whole camp will come running!” he threatened, breathing hard.

“Really?” Dean asked, something dark stirring inside him at the threat. “Think anyone will hear you?” He saw Cas take that in, cocking his head to the side, listening to the yelling and general mayhem outside the door. That all-too familiar gesture caused something to clench deep inside Dean, and his breath caught on something close to a sob. _Cas, I can’t lose you, not you. Please Angel, please… let me help you… let me stay with you. You shouldn’t be alone._

Dean didn’t think he’d said the words out loud but Cas stiffened as if he had. In that moment when the angel was distracted he began to slowly, carefully, move between Cas and the door, knowing Cas’s next move would be to bolt. If he could get close enough to the door the angel wouldn’t be able to get past him without touching him, and the hunter knew Cas would never risk that.

Cas caught the movement and flicked a look at the door, then back at Dean, a feral, almost alien, calculation entering his eyes. Dean took one more deliberate step, and Cas watched with narrowed eyes, thousands of years of a warrior’s experience measuring distance, speed, probability, all in an instant. Dean saw the moment the angel realized he was trapped. He also saw the instant Cas reached for his weapon, only to find it gone.

“Looking for this?” Dean asked, casually waggling the newly-cleaned angel blade in his left hand. Again that calculation, and the realization that Dean must have recovered the weapon when the angel had been wiping his face with the rag cut from the hunter’s shirt.

“Clever,” Cas admitted.

“I have my moments,” Dean agreed, forcing a smile from muscles that felt like they’d frozen into a rictus of fear.

They stood in that tableau for a moment, Dean as solid and implacable as a granite statue while Cas's eyes roved around the room, the angel making and discarding plan after plan.

“Dean…” Cas said eventually, “surely even someone as pig-headed as a Winchester can see what a bad idea this is.”

“I’ll only touch you with the towel,” Dean said gently, refusing to rise to the bait. “You can’t clean yourself off before you’re checked, you know the rules. Too much chance of the water running into a wound you can’t see on yourself. Cas, you know this. Stop acting like I’m one of those Croatoan assholes and not your friend. I’m trying to help you.” As he spoke Dean moved closer to Cas, approaching slowly, softly, as if towards a wild animal. Cas watched him with wide, wild eyes, the blue even more startling now his face was covered in blood and grime, a face Dean suddenly realized he knew better than he knew his own.

As he took another step Cas finally cracked, a single tear rolling slowly down his cheek. Dean longed to reach out and wipe it away, but years of training held his hand back, and he didn’t think Cas even realized it was there. The angel had never fully grasped all the subtle nuances of human emotion. Which, Dean acknowledged privately to himself, was a damned hypocritical observation coming from him.

As Dean finally stepped within reach, Cas slowly put his bloodied hands behind his back, allowing Dean access to his body in a gesture of trust that almost took the hunter’s breath away. Slowly, carefully, he reached out with the clean towel, cautiously washing the wound on Cas’s ribs. The angel shuddered, and Dean could feel his gaze like hot coals on the top of his head. He looked up, and quickly down again, the intensity of the angel’s gaze too much to bear.

As he continued his ministrations he could feel the heat radiating off his friend, a heat that had always been more than a normal human’s body heat, as if his skin just barely contained the very fires of creation. Dean stilled, for a second he thought he’d smelled… yes, there it was, above the smell of blood, sweat, and dirt, the very faint hint of the ocean, the ozone tang Dean had smelled on the battlefield. The scent that was specific to only one being, an Angel of the Lord. His hands twitched involuntary as he thought about what he’d seen as he’d reached the cabin with Cas. For just a millisecond he’d sworn he’d seen his friend’s eyes blaze with the light of Grace, seen the faint outline of ragged wings stretching across the walls of the cabin.

Somewhere deep inside the hunter a faint hope began to stir.

“Dean?” Cas asked, a resigned note to his voice that broke Dean’s train of thought and sent a chill down his spine. He looked closer at the wound he was cleaning. Was that Cas’s blood? Dean didn’t think so. His heart thudded hard, Cas was infected. _No!_ Dean screamed internally, careful to keep his face expressionless and his hands steady. _Not Cas! Please, God, if you’re out there you son of a bitch, don’t take Cas from me too._ _Don’t you fucking_ dare _!_ He felt Cas shudder again under his touch, goosebumps rising across his flesh. He forced his anguish away with all the power of his considerable will, breathing steadily in and out, concentrating on wiping the towel across his friend’s skin as carefully as if he were made of the finest bone china.

Cas blew out another shuddering breath and Dean gritted his teeth, his hands shaking now not from the strain, but from something else entirely; his body, still singing from the battle earlier, was reacting to Cas’s closeness with a single-minded and totally inappropriate intensity. Dean wondered briefly if lusting after his friend, who was not only a freaking _angel_ , but who was also infected with the worst virus the world had ever seen, was going to get him a one-way ticket straight back to Hell.

Dean firmly put all those unhelpful thoughts out of his mind as he finished dressing the wound, his movements taking on the automatic quality of someone who had performed the same action a thousand times. He quickly and efficiently cut Cas’s remaining clothes from him and, careful not to touch his friend, examined every centimeter of his skin for any further abrasions. Finding none he reached up and gently, tenderly, almost reverently cleaned Cas’s face, using the caress of the towel to say everything he wished he had the strength to say out loud. Cas subtly leaned into his touch, and he could feel the angel’s eyes burning holes in him until it was done. Finally Dean took a step back, satisfied that Cas could finish cleaning himself without accidentally rubbing blood into an unseen cut.  

Cas stared at Dean for another long second, before wrapping a blanket around his waist in an almost defensive gesture and disappearing into the bathroom. Dean tensed when he heard Cas hiss, the angel clearly realizing that the hunter had removed anything even resembling a sharp object, then relaxed when he heard the sound of running water.

“Remember to tilt your head back so the blood doesn’t get in your eyes and mouth!” Dean called through the door, aware of how ridiculous he was being but unable to stop himself. A string of curses met that request, and Dean grinned.

“That’s not very angelic language!” the hunter yelled back, to be met with even more curses, this time in Enochian.

Dean’s smile faded as he looked around the room, and he blew out a shaky breath. Cas’s new-age paraphernalia was scattered everywhere, and so was his fighting gear. The hunter quickly and efficiently gathered all the blood-soaked gear in another clean blanket, ready to be burned. He checked himself carefully, no blood had splashed onto his skin or clothes, but just to be safe he shucked his gear and dressed in some of Cas’s clothes, the familiar smell almost making him vomit as reaction finally hit him.

Dean doubled over, his hands on his knees, sweat beading his skin, his breath coming in harsh gasps. His legs buckled under him and he sank heavily onto the edge of the bed, his head in his hands, trembling with terror and anguish. Cas was infected. Cas, who had raised him from Perdition. Cas, who had stood with him through every second of this hell. Cas, who had lost everything, including his divine status, to stand beside Dean in this fight. Cas, his best friend, his confidant. Cas who was perfect, flawless, beautiful, innocent in a way that had nothing to do with sex and drugs and everything to do with who he was deep inside… Cas, _who he loved!_

“Get a fucking grip, Winchester!” Dean hissed to himself, fisting his hands in his hair, using the sharp pain to cut through the panic and dread and clear his head enough to think. And Dean knew he needed to think quickly, because when Cas returned from the bathroom he would no longer be able to put off the inevitable, he would have to end his friend’s suffering before it began. At that thought the hunter felt acid bile sear his throat, and a scream beginning to build somewhere deep in his chest. Shakily he slid off the bed and fell to his knees on the floor, about to offer up the most heart-felt prayer of his life to a God he no longer believed in. And then, suddenly, kneeling on the cold, hard floor, the tears burning behind his eyes, Dean felt the stir of an idea, a faint hope that had been niggling in the back of his thoughts since they’d reached the cabin. The hunter slowly rose, and looked thoughtfully at the bathroom door, that faint hope crystallizing into a last, desperate idea.

 

When Cas finally emerged, clean, tousle-haired, pale and drawn and absolutely, devastatingly beautiful, Dean knew what he had to do.

“ _Cas_ … _Castiel?_ ” Dean asked, not out loud, but as a prayer. The angel whipped around to face him, and Dean froze.

“Son of a _bitch!_ ” he breathed. The significance of everything that had passed between them in the last day suddenly hit Dean like a freight train, and before he had time to change his mind the hunter decided to risk it all on a final, desperate gamble. Before Cas had a chance to even begin to suspect what he was planning Dean leaped forward, catching Cas’s mouth with his own in a brutal kiss, biting down hard on the angel’s bottom lip, the coppery taste of blood, _infected_ blood, flooding his mouth.

Cas pushed him back with inhuman strength, and Dean flew through the air, landing with almost bone-crunching force against the headboard of the bed. He froze as his friend stared at him, a look of utter horror and naked despair on his face, blood dripping unheeded down his chin.

“ _Dean!_ ” Cas breathed, his voice breaking, “What have you _done?!_ ”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I know! I’m sorry Cas and Dean! I'll fix it next chapter... probably...  
> As always, thanks for reading!!


	4. That Which Remains Unspoken

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IMPORTANT: This chapter starts with the end of the last chapter from Cas’s point of view, just to avoid any confusion on what’s happening!  
> Less important: The last chapter has undergone a slight re-write, nothing major, I just wasn’t careful enough with the editing when I put it up the first time, so sorry about that. Thanks again to everyone who left kudos and comments, every time I read them I do a happy dance!!  
> Warning: sex, drugs and rock ‘n’ roll. Well, one of those anyway. More seriously, talk of suicide.

Cas closed the bathroom door with shaking hands and leaned his head against the cool wood, trying to bring his racing heart and ragged breathing under control. The image of Dean oh so gently tending to his wounds was burned in his mind, the caress of the towel saying as much, if not more, than words ever could. The hunter had refused to meet his eyes, and Cas was grateful, it was as intimate a moment as he’d ever experienced and he wasn’t sure his self-control was up to seeing what was going on behind Dean Winchester’s unflappable façade. He clenched his fists, fixing the memory in his mind, using the image of Dean’s face to comfort him during what he intended to make his final moments.

Cas pushed off the door and opened his medicine cabinet, to find that, of course, Dean had cleaned out anything the now-human angel could potentially use to end his life. Cas smiled ruefully when he saw that the hunter had even taken his store of toothpicks. He sighed and bowed to the inevitable, Dean wasn’t going to let him die alone. A deeply hidden part of Cas was selfishly relieved that Dean would be with him until the end. The greater part of him was horrified. His friend had been through enough.

Cas looked in the mirror and quickly looked away again. He didn’t recognize the shell-shocked face staring back at him, his eyes were too wild, his face too pale and drawn. He turned on the water, then turned slowly back to the mirror, realization striking. The angel looked thoughtfully at the door, calculating, then shrugged and turned away again. Breaking the mirror would be too noisy, there was no lock on the door and Dean would be there too quickly; not quickly enough to stop Cas, but quickly enough that the spray of blood might hit his friend. It wasn’t worth the risk. He sighed and got in the shower, automatically checking that the waterproof dressing was in place, then realizing it didn’t matter if it wasn’t. He couldn’t get more infected than he already was.

Cas responded to Dean’s admonishments and banter on autopilot, both amused and annoyed that the hunter was clearly standing just the other side of the door, making sure he was actually having a shower and not planning some kind of escape. He carefully cleaned off the blood and grime that seemed to coat every inch of his body, savoring the feel of the water, the feeling of the steam in the air, the heat on his skin. He held up a hand and marveled at the beauty of each water droplet as it caught the dim bathroom light. In these, the last minutes of his life, the world seemed to take on a startling clarity, every small sensation feeling more real than it ever had before.

Cas could no longer see the colors and feel the vibrations that were beyond human perception, or hear the music of the cosmos. Those days were long gone. But now he realized that the urgency of a mortal life, the explosion of flavor in the simplest food, the warmth and emotion in a simple human touch, was so much more. And now he was about to lose it all.

Cas turned off the water and stood in the steam, just breathing. Just feeling his lungs fill with each inhale, and compress with each exhale. Feeling his heart thud comfortingly in his chest, at a higher speed than normal, his body still reacting to Dean’s presence. He ran his hands through his hair, and stretched out his arms, feeling his muscles tense and relax, remembering the first day he had inhabited Jimmy Novak’s form, how strange it had felt, how clumsy and limited compared to his angel form with its magnificent wings and thrumming power. He closed his eyes and ran his fingers across his face, tracing the path Dean’s hands had taken, feeling his lips turn up in an unwilling smile as the memories flooded in.

In the beginning Cas hadn’t understood why every time he looked at his friend his heart had raced and his ability to think was overtaken by an intense need to be near the hunter, to see his smile, to hear his laugh, to feel the accidental brush of a hand. He hadn’t understood why he needed Dean like his newly human body had needed to breathe. When he had, the realization that Dean would never feel the same way had been crushing, and instead of having faith that his friend might one day feel something for him, he’d rushed into the arms of someone else, _anyone_ else, who might fill the void within him. But no one ever had.

His reverie was broken when his hearing, which had always remained better than a normal human’s, picked up the sound of Dean’s panicked breathing in the other room, and he knew that to put off the inevitable any longer would be too cruel, for both of them.

With one last look around the bathroom, taking in every detail, from the cracked mirror to the slightly wonky seashell tile above the sink, Cas pulled on some clean clothes and headed out to meet his fate.

 

Cas opened the door, prepared for anything other than what actually happened. He heard Dean call his name, and before he even had time to open his mouth Dean was there, kissing him, biting him, being infected! The surge of adrenaline that shot through Cas was so strong that he nearly blacked out, and the next thing he knew Dean was on the bed, cradling an arm, blood, _his_ blood, on the hunter’s lips and teeth.

“Cas…” Dean whispered, “I’m so sorry, I had to!”

Castiel came back to himself with a start, and stared at his friend, the love of his very, _very_ long life, and felt something inside him break. After a few seconds of fraught silence he opened his mouth and said the first thing that came to his mind.

* * *

“You taught me to drive.”

“What?” Dean asked, confused. He’d expected anger, possibly even tears, but this… this he hadn’t expected. This was far scarier.

“When I lost my ‘mojo’,” Cas clarified. The angel sat on the edge of the bed, looking at the ceiling. His voice was calm, his face devoid of all expression. Dean swallowed hard, his stomach churning. This was bad. After years of leading his small group of survivors through hell and back, he knew the signs of someone reaching their breaking point.

“I had no way to get around,” Cas smiled, still staring at the ceiling. “I sat in the car, and put my hands on the steering wheel, like I’d seen you do a thousand times. I couldn’t understand why it didn’t just move. It always moved when you sat in that seat.”

Dean shifted around, trying to get a better look at Cas’s face. He remembered that day vividly. Cas had sat in the driver’s side of the Impala and commanded it to go. When it didn’t, his look of confusion, annoyance, and hurt had nearly caused Dean to have an aneurysm trying to hold the laughter in. When he’d finally been able to trust himself to speak, without hurting the angel’s feelings by rolling on the floor in hysterics, he’d patiently taught Cas how to change gears and use the pedals. It was the first time he and the angel had really connected on a human level. When Cas had first successfully driven a short way down the highway, his face locked in a mask of determined concentration, Dean had felt something unfamiliar stir inside, something he now realized had been the beginnings of the feelings that had gotten them into this mess.

“You loved it,” Dean whispered, after a long moment of tense silence. “You loved driving. I can still see your face that day we drove out to the middle of nowhere and I let you go as fast as you wanted. I think it was the first time I ever saw you really smile after… after everything.”

Cas looked sharply at Dean, a strange look in his eyes.

“I remember. I’m surprised you do though. You never talk about those days. I just assumed…”

“What?” Dean asked, hearing the snap in his voice, but unable to prevent it. “You thought because I don’t talk about it that I don’t remember? That I don’t remember your face the first time you tried pizza? Or that it took over an hour for you to learn to tie your shoelaces, because you wouldn’t let me show you how? Or that the first time you got drunk you found a feather and just sat there, cradling it for hours? Or that for _months_ I’d see you tense up, then look shocked because you’d forgotten you couldn’t just fly off whenever you wanted?” Dean took a deep breath, seeing his friend bow under the weight of his words, but unable to stop the flow. “It _broke_ my _heart_ to see you like that, Cas. So of course I never talk about it. It was the most painful time of your life, only a total dick would bring it up!”

Cas was shaking his head even before Dean had finished. “Painful?” he laughed bitterly. “Maybe. But it was also the _best_ time of my life! You’ve always been a human, you have no idea what it’s like to suddenly become one. It was like a veil had been lifted, the world was so vivid, so exciting. Everything was new. Tasting food for the first time. Feeling the sun on my face and the wind in my hair, feeling feelings I’d never felt before. Being touched. That’s something you understand only subconsciously, because you’ve had it all your life, but Dean, the touch of another human being… it’s a feeling I can’t even describe. It’s addictive. This _whole damn world_ is addictive! Food, sex, love, hate, pain… it’s sensory overload and I can’t get enough of it.”

Cas clenched his hands in his lap, and looked down, as though mustering courage. “But the _best_ part was spending time with you. You taught me how to look after myself, how to be human. What fun, and friendship, and laugher were all about. What love…” Cas broke off, staring determinedly at the floor, twisting his fingers savagely in his lap. Dean’s heart leapt into his throat and he tensed up, whether from fear or anticipation he wasn’t sure, but Cas didn’t finish the sentence, just continued to stare at the floor like it was the most fascinating thing in the world. Dean wanted to reach out to his friend, but some instinct kept him in place, watching the angel breathe through some internal struggle.

“Why?” Cas asked finally, plaintively. “Why did you do it, Dean? You told Mike not to diminish Sarah’s sacrifice, then you turned around and did exactly the opposite. And the camp… they won’t easily recover from losing you, if they ever do.”

Dean drew in a deep breath, and blew it out again. It was a question he couldn’t readily answer. He could hardly say ‘hey Cas, I think you’ve got some angel mojo buried in there, which only comes out when you’re at the height of extreme emotion,’ because for one, he didn’t know for sure, and for another, it was a feeble answer. The real reason had been much simpler, and far more selfish. He’d given so much, sacrificed _so much_. He’d lost everything he’d ever cared about… except for Cas. Dean knew he was anything but a coward, but everyone had their breaking point, and this was his. He wouldn’t, _couldn’t_ continue the struggle without his friend.

Instead of voicing those thoughts Dean just shrugged, knowing there was nothing he could say that would placate the angel. At that gesture the sadness in Cas’s face was replaced with a look Dean had only seen a handful of times since the angel had raised him from Perdition. That look made Dean’s stomach drop and his bowels turn to water because, fallen or not, a seriously pissed-off angel was nothing to take lightly.

Cas opened his mouth, and Dean was sure he was _not_ going to like what happened next, but before Cas could say what was on his mind there was a knock at the door, and Dean felt his shoulders slump in guilty relief.

“Come in,” Cas called out, still staring at Dean. The hunter hurriedly wiped his face, hoping he looked more like the fearless leader everyone believed him to be, and less like a scared, love-sick teenager. _Vampire_ teenager he amended, noticing the blood on the tissue he’d used to wipe his face.

“Dean, we need you to oversee the funeral,” Chuck said, not looking up from his list as hurried in the door. “Cas, we need you to lead the blessing…” Chuck trailed off as he took in the tableau before him, Cas, clearly fresh from the shower, and Dean, sitting on the bed dressed in Cas’s clothes.

“Umm… or… I could come back later?” Chuck asked, blushing.

“It’s not like that,” Dean hurriedly assured him, feeling Cas stiffen beside him and mentally cursing himself for always managing to say exactly the wrong thing.

“Right…” Chuck said skeptically, “well… we need the fearless leader and his angel, the camp is…”

“ _His_ angel?” Cas broke in with a short laugh, “Chuck… I’m no one’s angel these days. Or hadn’t you heard?” There was amusement in Cas’s voice, but Dean noticed the tell-tale tightening around Cas’s eyes and mouth, and his heart, already in pieces after the events of the day, broke just a little bit more.

Chuck held up his hands in surrender. “Look, I don’t know what’s going on with you two, but the camp needs you both clear-headed right now. So it’s probably a good idea to put whatever it is aside for now.”

“It’s always about the greater fucking good, isn’t it?” Dean sniped, standing up.

Cas sighed. “Chuck… look…”

“We’ll be out in just a sec,” Dean interrupted hurriedly, glaring at the angel.

“Alrighty…” Chuck agreed, looking back and forth between them, and then backing out of the room with more haste than strictly necessary, “I’ll… I’ll just tell everyone you’ll be there soon, ok?”

“Ok,” Dean agreed, “We’re just going to finish cleaning up and we’ll be right…” he trailed off as Chuck melted into the chaos outside the door. He raked his hands through his hair. Chuck would have to be told, but not yet. Dean wasn’t ready to give up just yet.

“We have to tell him,” Cas sighed, standing. “We only have a few hours left.”

“Soon,” Dean said, evasively. “Let’s just get through the funeral first, ok?”

 

Dean counted the crowd of people around the pyre of bodies, and felt his heart cramp. Too many bodies, too few survivors. They couldn’t continue to take losses at this rate. He had to review their defenses, see what he had missed. He had to… he had to do nothing. In a few hours this would no longer be his problem.

Dean couldn’t even begin to sort out the emotions that rushed through him as he finally realized exactly what he’d done, and what the consequences would be, so instead he did what he did best, and locked the emotions away, focusing on the people around him.

He watched the procession of family and friends, careful to keep his thoughts from his face as they pinned their loved one's photos to the memorial wall, a tradition that had started the day he had pinned Sammy’s picture to the wall of his office, and Cas had suggested everyone should have somewhere to put their pictures of the missing and the dead.

There were no dry eyes in the camp, the survivors were a close-knit group and everyone had lost family that day. Dean kept a watchful eye on the crowd, listening with only half an ear to Cas as he spoke about each and every person who had died. Cas had always been better at this part than Dean; if Dean was the head of the camp, Cas was its beating heart. The angel was deeply interested in, and attached to, every person that lived inside the walls. He knew everyone’s birthdays, what they had done ‘before’, and probably the name of their first pet for all Dean knew. It didn’t mean the hunter cared any less, just that Cas had no problems sharing his affection and genuine interest freely and without guile. It was one of the things the hunter loved most about him.

Dean closed his eyes briefly at that thought. There could be no doubt now that he loved the angel, and now he, like so many others gathered here, was never going to have a chance to be with the one he loved again. For what seemed like the hundredth time that night he determinedly pushed those thoughts away and opened his eyes again, making sure his face was calm and composed, knowing many of his people were watching, taking strength from his strength.

Cas finished with a prayer, something Dean knew made the angel deeply uncomfortable, but like Dean, he did it for the people they watched over. And then it was the hunter’s turn. He never spoke at the funerals, but there was one job he always took upon himself.

He held out his hand, and Chuck lit the torch and placed it carefully in his grip. Steeling himself he stepped forward and thrust the burning torch into the pyre, each of the countless times he’d performed this action flashing through his mind’s eye. Cas walked over and stood beside him, and together they silently watched the sparks rise into the night sky, taking with them their friends. Their family.

* * *

Everywhere Dean looked the grief for the fallen was being swept aside by the guilty relief of survival, lubricated by the store of alcohol the hunter had ordered opened. Dean could see the signs, and knew that many of the camp would be taking comfort in one another’s arms tonight. Usually Cas played a big part in that.

With that in mind he looked around for his friend, and sure enough two women already had their arms around him, pressing up against the angel in a way that made Dean grind his teeth. His stomach churned as Cas grinned down at them, leaning in to whisper in their ears. The women turned to go, and Cas patted them each lightly on the butt, causing them to giggle and squeal, and Dean to growl low in his throat. The angel watched them leave with an expression of resigned amusement, which faded when he looked over and saw Dean watching. Dean quickly schooled his expression into one of complete indifference, and turned away, not wanting Cas to see how hurt he was. The angel didn’t owe him anything, in fact, Dean owed Cas, first for saving his life, and then for the terrible burden he’d placed on him, allowing him to be the instrument of his infection.

He felt Cas come up behind him, and flinched involuntarily when his friend dropped a casual hand on his shoulder. Cas removed the hand instantly, and Dean didn’t need to see his face to imagine his expression.

Ignoring the angel he kept walking until he was close enough to the crowd to be heard.

“Ok, that’s it!” he called out. “It’s been a hell of a day, now you all need to try and get some sleep, except patrol groups three through six. You have the watch tonight, two hour shifts only.”

Everyone continued milling around and he clapped his hands sharply. “Go!” he roared. “Get moving or the Croats will be the least of your worries!” He watched with satisfaction as the crowd immediately leaped into action, and turned to find Cas holding out a hand to stop him.

“Dean… we _have_ to tell Chuck. We’re running out of time!”

“Not. _Yet!_ ” Dean ground out. Cas started to protest, real anger in his eyes, but Dean reached out and grabbed him by the shirt, bodily dragging him back to the cabin. Cas put up token resistance, Dean knew if he really wanted to protest there was no way he could have moved the angel; Cas had more experience in his little finger than the whole camp put together, which meant he could snap the hunter in half without a second thought, angelic powers or not.

“Dean…” Cas tried again, his tone softening to one of compassion, causing the hunter’s steps to falter. Was he doing the right thing? He shook his head. Now was not the time for doubts.

“We have something to settle first,” Dean finally said, resuming his stride towards the cabin. “Something that has nothing to do with anyone else.” Cas fell silent, but Dean could still feel the pressure of his gaze. Eventually he reached the cabin door, and none-to-gently pushed Cas inside. The angel stood in the middle of the floor, his shirt crumpled where Dean had grabbed it, his hair still sticking out in all directions because Dean had confiscated his comb.

The hunter caught his breath, just gazing at Cas, taking in his lean form, the hollow of a hip-bone where his shirt had been pulled askew, the elegant long-fingered hands that had held him so gently, and had dealt out such destruction. And most of all the piercing, expressive, ancient blue eyes that held a universe of secrets.

Dean felt his heart stutter, and wondered how he’d never before noticed the almost magnetic attraction of his friend. Then he shook his head ruefully. Of course he’d noticed, he’d just hidden that noticing so deeply inside that he’d successfully lied to himself for years, until it was almost too late.

He took a step towards Cas, who automatically took a step back, his eyes widening. Dean took another deliberate step, and Cas stepped back again, his breathing speeding up. Something inside Dean stirred fiercely at the reaction he was having on the angel. Cas was always so in control, so calm. During their earlier lovemaking Cas had been the one in control, Dean the one who was a hopeless mess of emotion. Now it was time to turn the tables.

One more step and Cas was backed up against a wall, visibly shaken. Dean took a smaller step until his face was only inches away from the angel’s, until he was breathing the same air, until all his eyes could see was blue eyes that were almost black with desire.

Dean reached out a hand, and laid it on Cas’s hip, his fingers just brushing the exposed flesh. Cas’s reaction was instantaneous, the angel shuddered visibly, biting his lip, his pupils now completely blown. Part of Dean marveled at the effect he had on his friend, and if he’d had any lingering doubts about how the angel felt, Cas’s reaction dispelled them.

Slowly he moved the hand, brushing it along the waistline of Cas’s pants. Cas finally seemed to come back to himself, and he caught Dean’s hand, stilling it.

“Dean…” the angel whispered, his expression equal parts desire and uncertainty. “You don’t have to do this. You don’t owe me anything.”

Dean smiled, a predator’s grin. “Wrong. Wrong on every count. I do have to. I do owe you. And that’s not why I’m doing this. Unless you don’t want me to?” he asked teasingly, withdrawing his hand. Cas grabbed it, and brought it back to his hip forcefully.

“That’s what I thought,” Dean grinned smugly, and finally, ever so slowly, leaned forward to kiss his angel.

* * *

Cas wasn’t sure what was happening, but he _was_ sure he never wanted it to stop. Any thoughts of dying, of the battle, of telling Chuck, or of the strange stirrings of Grace he’d felt inside him, melted away until he was focused solely on one thing, Dean’s mouth, leaning in to capture his own.

At the first touch of the hunter’s lips Cas closed his eyes, certain his heart was going to jump out of his chest and kill him well before the virus had a chance to take his soul. Dean’s soft, slightly chapped lips sealed over Cas’s own in a gentle, delicate kiss with barely any pressure behind it. When Cas didn’t move away, _couldn’t_ have moved away, not even if the cabin had fallen on their heads, Dean deepened the kiss, running his tongue gently over Cas’s bottom lip, pausing over the swelling that marked Dean’s earlier ‘kiss’, apology and love in that simple gesture. Cas sighed and opened his mouth, and at the touch of Dean’s tongue to his own he shuddered again. The kiss was slow and tender, asking instead of demanding. Cas tentatively put his hands on Dean’s waist, and Dean reacted by putting his arms around Cas’s back, pulling him hard against his body, sliding a hand up to cradle his neck.

“C’mon Cas… it’s ok, baby,” Dean whispered, pulling back from the kiss. Cas realized that his body was still frozen in shock, unable to process what was happening. He reached a hand up and cupped Dean’s cheek, gazing searchingly into the hunter’s eyes, seeing only desire, and something deeper, in his gaze. Dean reached up, covering Cas’s hand with his own, and turned his head to kiss the angel’s palm. At that simple gesture a longing and desire as strong as anything Cas had ever felt shot through him, and his frozen body suddenly came to life.

This time Cas initiated the kiss, and where the other kiss had been slow and tender, this kiss was passionate and demanding. Cas pushed Dean back towards the bed and the hunter went willingly, pulling at his clothes. Cas paused for just a second to rip his shirt over his head, and they came together again, the feeling of skin on skin causing both of them to groan aloud. Cas’s mouth remained fixed firmly to Dean’s as he ran his hands over the hunter’s shoulder blades and down his back, marveling at the feeling of hard muscle bunching under smooth skin. He felt Dean’s hands hard on his hips, holding him steady as they fell backwards onto the bed. Cas’s hands went immediately to Dean’s belt, and when he couldn’t get it undone fast enough he tore the leather, breaking it in half, too lost to desire to notice the calculating look that briefly crossed Dean’s face at that show of more-than-human strength.

“Slow down, Angel,” Dean laughed, capturing Cas’s hands. “We still have a little time. Let’s not rush it, like we did before.”

Cas snarled and spat a curse in Latin and Dean grinned, clearly pleased to have riled the angel past his usual calm.

“Besides, I’m not really…umm…” Dean coughed, and Cas was amused to see a slight blush stain the normally unflappable hunter’s cheeks. The angel leaned backwards, trying to steady his breathing. He’d forgotten that Dean, as experienced as he was in other conquests, had never been with a man before Cas, and that his father had instilled some pretty heavy prejudice against exactly the kind of activity they were now engaged in. Cas himself had never understood why humans cared about what meat suit their souls wore, he picked his partners by what he sensed about them as people… when he was sober enough to care.

Trying to get his lust-hazed brain back into gear he realized he’d have to tread carefully now, because not only was it Dean’s first proper time with a man, it was also their first proper time together.

And their last.

* * *

Cas’s breath was coming in hard gasps now, but at Dean’s words he visibly calmed himself, a slow, lazy grin spreading across his face, a mischievous look in his eyes that was as familiar to Dean now as Castiel, the Angel of the Lord’s small half-smiles and shy glances had been.

Cas sat back, his arousal clearly visible through the cotton pants he always wore. Dean was in no better shape, and the movement of Cas’s hips where he was straddling the hunter caused him to bite his lip to stop the escape of another groan.

“So,” Cas said, showing a disconcerting amount of teeth, “the student becomes the teacher. I think I’m going to enjoy this.”

Dean stared up at Cas, struck by a sudden melancholy.

_Who taught you how to love, Cas? Who was there when I couldn’t be? When I should have been?_

A strange expression crossed Cas’s face, as though he was thinking along similar lines. Slowly the angel leaned down, kissing his way down Dean’s neck, running his tongue down the hunter’s chest until he reached a hard nipple and took it in his mouth, grazing it with his teeth in a way that sent a bolt of lightning straight to Dean’s aching cock.

“Cas…” he hissed out, suddenly not sure he could take it slowly after all. He felt Cas reach down and finally free them both from their remaining clothes. Then the angel took them both in hand, and the intense feeling of Cas’s hard length against his own caused Dean’s hips to buck and his eyes to roll back in his head. The angel kept up his merciless assault with hands and mouth while Dean fisted his hands in the sheets, then in Cas’s hair, trying to get him to stop.

“Cas _… Castiel!_ ” Dean moaned. “Angel, stop… baby, please! I can’t hold on much longer.”

Cas stilled his hands, and lifted his head, staring into Dean with eyes that were no longer human. Dean’s breath caught as he was pinned to the bed by the intense stare of an Angel of the Lord. Slowly, slowly, Cas, his Cas, his friend, returned and Dean’s breathing eased, leaving behind shaky hope. He knew now he only needed to hold on long enough to push Cas as far over the edge as he could, as far into angel territory as his mortal body was capable of withstanding. He didn’t think Cas had made the connection between the flashes of Grace and the intensity of the connection between them, but Dean knew instinctively that if he told Cas it would break the spell, and all chance of his angel side coming back enough to heal himself would be lost.

Dean had no hope at all that Cas had enough mojo left inside to heal him, but to heal himself, yes. There was. There had to be.

Cas was the first to break eye contact, reaching over Dean to the bedside table, the sudden movement of their bodies causing both of them to groan again. After fumbling in the drawer for a moment he pulled out a bottle, and Dean raised an eyebrow.

“It’s the middle of the damn _apocalypse_ , and you use our supply runs to pick up _lube_?”

Cas smirked, the gleam in his eyes giving Dean a sudden shiver of nerves. The angel noticed and grinned wider, leaning down to kiss the hunter. Dean steeled himself for what he was sure was going to be a very strange experience, only to realize that Cas was preparing himself for Dean, not the other way around. Dean frowned, about to say something; he wanted this to be the best experience for Cas, and the hunter was sure his inexperience was going to show.

“Trust me,” Cas whispered in his ear, a faint amusement threading his voice. Dean reached up a hand to cup the angel’s cheek, running a thumb across a sharp cheekbone.

“Always,” he whispered back. He felt Cas let out a shuddering breath, and his mouth found Dean’s again in a slow, sensual kiss that made the hunter’s bones practically melt with desire. In that instant Dean finally surrendered completely, letting go of all his worries, all his fears, all his doubts, and just let his body do the talking. Everywhere the angel touched him it was like being touched with a high-voltage electrical wire, and Dean suddenly couldn’t get close enough, couldn’t touch enough skin, couldn’t kiss deeply enough.

Cas picked up on his urgency and the mood changed from gentle and loving to passionate and desperate. Dean felt his movements becoming less co-ordinated, more frantic as Cas reached between them, breaking off the kiss to slide himself slowly down on Dean’s rock-hard erection. Dean watched with wide eyes, fighting not to come right then and there.

_Cas… oh fuck! Fuck that’s hot. Shit, I’m not going to make it. No, I’ve got to. Come on Winchester, you’ve got to hold on. Hold on for Cas._

Cas was too far gone to grin, but Dean felt his hips stutter, and he wondered for a brief second if the angel had heard him. But not for more than a second, because his brain was occupied with more pressing matters.

As Cas became fully seated Dean automatically placed his hands on the angel’s waist, unable to think beyond the sheer, unbelievable pleasure that flooded his body, the tight heat that was almost more than he could bear. But it wasn’t just the feeling of his beloved angel surrounding him that nearly had Dean coming undone yet again, it was the look on Cas’s face. The angel looked completely sinful, wanton and debauched, his lips swollen from kissing, his hair disheveled, hectic color touching his cheeks, his piercing blue eyes black with desire.

“Dean…” Cas moaned, and Dean suddenly realized that the angel’s husky, sandpaper voice really, _really_ turned him on, especially when it was saying his name, rough with lust.

“Cas…” Dean gasped, as the angel began to move. While he was still coherent enough to think he quickly poured some lube and took Cas in hand, causing the angel to moan again, sending another spike of pleasure down Dean’s spine.

“Fuck, Cas…” Dean hissed, the sight of the angel above him almost too much to bear. “You’re so goddamn beautiful!”

Cas tilted his head to the side, slowing his movements, and Dean was struck by another shiver of recognition. It was the same look Cas had given him that first day, when he’d first told Dean the truth of his divinity. Like he wasn’t really seeing Dean, but was looking deeper, right down into his soul.

“No, Dean,” Cas whispered, his tone even huskier than before. “It is _you_ who is beautiful. If only you could see it for yourself.”

Dean huffed out a breathless laugh. “I have a mirror, Cas.”

“Not… what I mean,” Cas was breathing harder now, and Dean knew neither of them could hang on much longer. A fire burned behind the angel’s eyes, and Dean gritted his teeth, hoping, _praying_ for a miracle.

 _That’s it Cas_ , he whispered in his mind. _Let it go. Let it all go. I’m here_.  

“Mmm?” Cas murmured, too far gone to even realize Dean hadn’t been speaking out loud, and the hunter knew then that it was now or never.

“Cas…” Dean gasped, “there’s something I have to tell you.”

Dean grabbed Cas’s hands, twining their fingers together, waiting until he had the angel’s full attention. “Cas, I love you. I love you so fucking much. I’m so in love with you I can hardly bear it. Castiel… Angel… _I love you_.”

Dean didn’t see Cas’s reaction because he came so hard that the world went white, and then there was a hand over his eyes, a pressure on his chest, and Dean felt almost unbearable pleasure and heat, and something else, sear through him so intensely he thought he might die from it.

And then he didn’t think anything at all.

* * *

Castiel looked deeply into Dean’s eyes, and deeper, right down into the pure radiance of his soul. The angel’s body was humming with so much pleasure that the significance of what he was seeing didn’t really register. What did register was Dean’s words.

_Castiel, angel, I love you_

Cas felt something inside him break at those words, and as he came all his immense love for the hunter rushed through him, all the rage, and all the pain that their time would be cut short, just when they’d finally discovered each other. Then the fear, not for himself, but for Dean, his friend, his lover, his _soulmate_ crashed through him like an avalanche, along with something else, something he hadn’t felt in years. Deep, deep inside him, in a place he hadn’t known existed, the flood of emotion cracked a barrier, and white-hot power flooded through him.

Blinding white radiance flooded the room, as bright as if the sun itself was in the cabin with them. Acting purely on instinct he slapped his hand over Dean’s eyes, and slammed his other hand down on the hunter’s chest, channeling all the remnants of his Grace into a healing that poured into the man under him, briefly feeling a familiar weight settle on his spine, and the faintest brush of feathers against his skin.

And then it was over, and he felt hollowed out, empty, completely drained. He moved his hand from Dean’s face to see green eyes staring at him with awe, love, and something else that Cas was too shaky to identify.

“Are you ok?” the hunter asked unsteadily. Cas nodded, unable to speak.

“You healed me,” Dean whispered, his voice thready with emotion. Cas nodded again, exhaustion sweeping over him. He lay down beside the hunter, shaking with reaction, and Dean pulled him close.

“Did you heal yourself?” Dean whispered, and Cas identified the underlying emotion in Dean’s voice. Fear. He thought about his body. All the aches and pains were gone and, apart from the exhaustion, he felt as if he’d had a hot bath and a massage instead of fighting a harrowing battle and contracting a devastating illness.

“I think so,” he said, smiling as Dean’s arms tightened around his shoulders in obvious relief. Then the significance of everything that had happened between them over the last few hours began to sink in, and a horrible suspicion reared its head. He got up on one elbow and looked down at Dean.

“You knew!” he accused. A guilty look flashed across Dean’s face, and Cas felt his stomach drop through the floor.

“Then this was…” Cas felt his voice shake, and swallowed hard. “It wasn’t real? You just did it to make me heal us?”

“Oh, Cas,” Dean breathed, stricken. He reached up and held Cas’s face in his hands, preventing him from pulling away. “No, Angel, _no!_ Do you really think I could have faked all that?”

Cas shook his head, but looked away, unconvinced. Dean sighed and ran his hands tenderly down the angel’s arms.

“Cas, I hoped you’d heal yourself, that’s true. I saw the way your Grace flared up around me, ever since I walked in on you...” Dean coughed uncomfortably, “well, anyway, once I figured out how you felt I saw the connection. But this?” Dean gestured vaguely. “This is about us. I love you, Cas. I think I have for a long time, but I’m such a goddamn idiot I didn’t dare admit it to myself.”

Cas’s heart swelled again at those words, and he felt tears sting his eyes. He blinked them away, looking down into Dean’s suddenly vulnerable face.

“I love you, Dean Winchester,” Cas whispered, and he saw something in Dean relax as he said those words, the words that had burned in the back of his throat from the very first day he’d seen the hunter, deep in Hell. The words that had hung between them, unspoken, through every mission, every adventure, every moment of friendship and laughter, of joy and pain.

Then the angel leaned down to kiss the hunter, to prove his love again. This time without words.

* * *

Dean and Cas had decided to tell Chuck, in case the healing wasn’t strong enough to stop the virus. Thinking about the power he’d felt flowing through his body Dean was convinced that nothing could have survived the intensity of the angel’s healing. But Cas had insisted, and Dean had given in. Now he wished he hadn’t.

Chuck was sitting on the floor, his knees pulled up to his chest, looking like he either wanted to throw up or kill them both.

“That was a hell of a risk you took,” Chuck said, eventually. _You moron_ , Dean internally finished the sentence Chuck was too polite to finish out loud.

“I know, I’m sorry,” Dean said, one part defiance, two parts guilt. Chuck eyed him, as if about to question the sincerity of the apology.

“How much longer until we know for sure?” he asked instead.

“Another hour should do it,” Cas said, and Dean could hear the exhaustion in his voice. He put a comforting hand on the angel’s knee, deciding to make sure Cas got a good night’s sleep after this. The last few hours had been such a rollercoaster of emotion Dean was surprised either of them was still upright. The angel smiled the small half-smile that Dean loved so much, and put his hand reassuringly over the hunter’s. Dean turned back to Chuck, who looked between them, his eyebrows raised, a small smile on his face. Dean coughed hurriedly, trying to withdraw his hand, but Cas gripped it tightly, grinning mischievously. With his other hand Cas reached under the bed and withdrew his angel blade, handing it over to their friend, who held it awkwardly, like it was a venomous snake.  

“Let me get this straight,” the smaller man said sarcastically, “if it turns out you’re wrong and you do turn, you want me to kill you both. You want me, the person who takes inventory, to take out a demon hunter and an angel. Great plan. Nothing could possibly go wrong with that.”

Dean snorted a laugh, which only seemed to make Chuck madder. “No, I want you to run like hell, screaming at the top of your lungs, so that the fighters I have patrolling this area come and kill us. The blade is just to make you feel better.”

“Oh,” Chuck said, slightly mollified. He settled back, watching them with narrowed eyes. “So, tell me again how you came up with the brilliant idea to kill yourselves and not tell me until it was almost too late.”

Dean sighed. It was going to be a long hour.

* * *

After a tense hour and a half Chuck leaned over, handing the angel blade back to Cas, who took it with a relieved smile.

“Looks like something went our way for once,” Dean said, stretching. “Thanks, Chuck.” He paused, looking thoughtfully at the tense lines around his friend’s eyes and mouth. “Look, I don’t blame you for being angry, I would be too. I don’t even know how this happened, and I was there.”

Chuck looked at Dean strangely. “I do,” he said, standing up. “Love is a powerful force... 'and greater love hath no man than this, that he lay down his life for his friend.' ”

Dean and Cas boggled at the little man as he walked out into the night.

“Did he just…?” Cas spluttered.

“Yep,” Dean agreed with a grin. “It takes balls to quote that particular book to an angel.”

The hunter snorted with laughter at the outraged look on Cas’s face and flopped back on the bed, pulling the angel with him. As they laughed, and kissed, and touched, and whispered their secrets, Dean decided on one thing. It might be the end of the world, but his life was just beginning.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading guys, as always your encouragement has meant the world to me! I hope you enjoyed reading this fic as much as I enjoyed writing it :)


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